People stared at me. I heard them telling each other in Shona that I was probably an American. Cars slowed down. Windows were rolled down, male heads would emerge and ask why I was cycling. A woman like me shouldn't be riding a bike, the men said, and wanted to know where I lived so they could pick me up. I would pedal away. An old classmate saw me and laughed hysterically. Sometimes I felt like a foreigner.

I was no longer a hostage to religion, tradition or men. I was free. On my bicycle I felt like I was in a room of my own.